The Next War of Arda
by AinsleyAisling
Summary: Twenty three years after the War of the Ring, Rohan and Gondor unite to face an enemy from the South. The children of Faramir and Eowyn, with their cousins and friends in both lands, must find life and love amidst this new threat.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This multi-part story builds on characters introduced in my earlier one-shot Princes and Sisters, which is posted on ff.You don't have to read that story to understand this one, but it does provide some context and introduces the characters as younger children. For those who have not read it, Ethuniel is two years younger than Elboron. Elboron is twenty at the beginning of this story. For those who have read my other story, Aelwen is the child whose birth is predicted at the end of it. Hope you enjoy!_

**Chapter One: Emyn Arnen**

Elboron, son of Faramir and Eowyn, heir to the Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, nephew to the king of Rohan, and sworn brother to the future kings of both Rohan and Gondor, was living up to none of those titles as he sparred playfully (with wooden swords) with a ten-year-old girl on a hill overlooking his father's house and the surrounding lands. Particularly in view of the fact that Aelwen had landed a number of good shots that would probably bruise later. But then again, he was taking care not to injure her in any way. He reminded himself of this as she managed to poke him hard in the ribs with the end of her sword.

"Aelwen, I would have killed you," he pointed out patiently. "While you were stabbing me, I had a clear shot at your throat – or, in fact, at anything else I wished to hit."

"I know," his sister replied innocently, standing back and waving her sword in a ridiculous imitation of her brother's solitary practice sessions. "But you were winning and I wanted to stab you."

"I do not think that tactic would serve you well on the field of battle."

"Of _course_ not," she said, managing to convey that she was saddled with the dimmest elder brother in the entire universe. "I do not plan to use it on Haradrim; only on you."

Whatever Elboron had planned to say was interrupted, for his other sister, who had been watching the proceedings for a moment with a barely hidden smile, had finally decided that her message was important enough to cut short Aelwen's "practice."

"Have you noticed?" Ethuniel asked as she joined them at the highest point of the rise. "Riders from the northwest. Not many, but riding hard."

"The guards will have seen them," Elboron responded automatically even as he turned to look behind him. His dark eyes narrowed as he spied the group of ten or so riders, galloping hard as his sister said, nearing the far gates of Emyn Arnen at an impressive speed. He had barely finished the words when the horn sounded that sent a cautious greeting from the guardhouse to their visitors.

The horn that sounded in reply was unlike any made by mortal Men, and even Aelwen dropped her sword and came to stand closer to her elder brother and sister. "Are they Elves?" she asked in subdued delight.

"No," Ethuniel replied at the same time that Elboron said, "Yes." With a quick glance at her brother, Ethuniel clarified, "Not all. If I do not mistake, they ride like the Rohirrim. But that was an elven horn."

"You are right," Elboron granted after watching for another moment. "Those in the rear are surely Rohirrim. But in front . . ."

"They will be close enough to see in a few minutes." Ethuniel placed calming hands on her young sister's shoulders. "Peace, Aelwen, when you hop like that I can scarce see past you."

"That's because I'm going to be tall like Mama," Aelwen replied, managing to boast and keep one eye on the approaching riders at the same time.

"I would not count on it," replied Ethuniel, who had also been a tall child but had turned into a disappointingly (to her mind) petite woman. "I was a handswidth taller than you when I was your age."

"You are a handswidth taller than me now!"

"Exactly." Something in the air of the lead rider – the one they could now clearly see was holding the horn, and preparing to blow it again in greeting – caught Ethuniel's attention, and she grabbed absently at her brother's sleeve. "Elboron – is it not Legolas?"

Her sense of urgency caught him and he frowned intently at the riders. "It – you are right!"

"Isn't it?"

"I think it must be."

"He said he would not likely be back for –"

"Something must be wrong." Elboron and Ethuniel had long ago learned the habit of speaking over one another and finishing each other's sentences, and rarely minded being interrupted. And in this case . . . Elboron watched for another moment as the riders pressed their horses to the limit, nearing the gates at a speed that should have been impossible. "Something must be _very_ wrong. Aelwen, fetch Father."

"But I want to –"

"Aelwen, _now_!" her sister seconded. Aelwen did not hesitate another moment before running for the house, the wind catching the strands that had come loose from her tightly coiled braids. Ethuniel might not be very big, but she was occasionally very good at being obeyed.

The riders had been halted at the gates by the time their mother hurried up the rise to meet her children, lifting her skirts over her ankles in her haste. "I sent Aelwen on to find your father," she said by way of greeting. She sounded slightly out of breath, as though she had run all the way from the house. "She said it was Legolas, but that cannot be –"

"Look, Mother," Ethuniel said, pointing down toward the guardhouse. Elboron would never have interrupted his mother, but her daughters were not so bound. "We are certain it is he, with a number of Rohirrim."

"And three men of Gondor," Elboron added, now that the riders were close enough to make out the color of their tunics.

"Nay, two," Eowyn contradicted as soon as her sharp eyes had focused on the men. "That one has a Rohirric saddle – can it be your cousin? And – that _is_ Legolas. You were right to fetch your father."

"It's only that he said he would be unlikely to return for some years," Elboron said. "If he is here . . ."

"There is some emergency that affects the Elves," Eowyn finished.

"And the Rohirrim as well, it would seem," Ethuniel said. "And that _is_ Elfwine, Mother. Now I recognize the horse Uncle gave him last year when Wiglaf was retired."

"Your uncle would have sent a message, unless . . ." Eowyn pressed one hand to her forehead in thought. "Run down and meet them at the inner gate, both of you. I'm going back to the house."

They took the shortest way around the house and down into the inner streets, Elboron catching at his sister's hand to hurry her along. The inner gates were just opening to admit the small group of riders as they arrived. All of the men, especially the two in front, looked particularly enigmatic.

Their cousin Elfwine, heir to the throne of Rohan, leapt easily from his horse and warmly kissed Ethuniel when she came near, clapping Elboron on the back at the same time. In years he fell exactly between them, and although they did not see each other as often as they would have liked they had always been affectionate cousins. "Hello, you two," he said in his unaccented Westron (his mother, of course, hailing from Dol Amroth). "We have a lot to talk about."

"So we gathered," Elboron commented, nodding toward the other riders. Before he could say much else, the other leader had dismounted and come to greet them.

"_Mae govannen_, Legolas," Elboron said quickly, slightly ashamed that he had so far forgotten his manners. "We are pleased to see you so unexpectedly."

"And yet concerned, for you are neither of you slow of mind." Legolas embraced the son of his friends with good will. "I was your teacher for only a short time, but I remember that not much escaped you, son of Faramir." When he turned to Ethuniel he only gripped her shoulder gently and raised a brotherly hand to her hair, but murmured, "_Cormamin lindua ele lle_." In the confusion of their sudden and unannounced arrival, Ethuniel found time to be heartily ashamed of herself for the flush she could feel on her face.

She had grown up around Elves, however, and his effect on her was nearly broken by the time she found herself walking between him and Elfwine toward the great house. They had each comfortably taken an arm of hers, leaving Elboron to walk on the other side of his former teacher and continue to ask a lot of questions that were unlikely to be answered. They continued so until Elboron and Legolas were delayed by the need to give instructions on the stabling of the horses, leaving Ethuniel to escort her cousin to the house alone.

"I did _not _see you blush over our friend the elf back there, did I?" Elfwine asked teasingly as soon as they were out of earshot.

"No, you did not. Hush," she commanded, even as she laughed and allowed him to tuck her arm tighter within his.

"Because that would be an exceedingly clever way of disgracing the family, you know – running off with –"

"Stop it!" Ethuniel exclaimed, barely able to speak through her laughter. "First of all, you know that even had I the beauty of Galadriel – which I most certainly do _not_ -"

"Some might disagree."

"And you are not one of them, Elfwine, so hush – you know very well that we are all near infants to their kind, and Legolas has merely lived among Men for a long time and learned that nearly anything he says can make a mortal woman blush."

"Which does not explain why he seems to save it for you, cousin."

"Because unlike most mortal women except for perhaps two others, I know he means nothing by it." She grinned. "And unlike the other two, _I_ am not someone else's wife."

"Do you think he will stop when you are?"

Suddenly breaking the mood, Ethuniel laced the fingers of her free hand through her cousin's and asked seriously, "Elfwine, why have you all come?"

They both stopped walking, within short distance of the door to the house, as he pressed her hand and looked down into her upturned face. "You'll find out soon enough."

"It cannot be good news."

"No, it is not." He tugged at her hand. "Come on, your brother and your lover are catching us up."

She smiled at his attempt to return to their teasing, but it did not calm the nervous sinking in her stomach.

It was not good news.

"Haradrim in Rohan?" Faramir said in disbelief. It was the third time he had said those words, and the others had stopped replying.

"How far have they penetrated the borders?" Eowyn asked, glancing at her husband. In public she might show a bit more deference to his position, but in this small family council she did not trouble to curb her questioning tongue.

"Perhaps to the edges of the Eastemnet, my lady," replied the only one of the Riders to have come in to take council with them. He was Eoric, Eothain's son, and had been sent in his father's stead to accompany Elfwine to Ithilien.

His words brought the talk to a dead halt. It was after several moments of stunned silence that Faramir said, "No, that cannot be possible. That would take – how could they not have been noticed?"

"Forgive me, I did not speak plainly," Eoric said. His words in the common tongue were more laborious than his prince's. "They have reached the northern edges of the Eastemnet – traveling from the north."

There was another shocked pause. "The only way to come up _north_ of Rohan from Harad – without being seen in Ithilien . . ." Eowyn trailed off, but her son finished her sentence.

". . . is to travel around Mordor."

Faramir shook his head absently. "We thought Mordor was cleared of any of the lingering Haradrim – or rather, it _was_ so cleared, but that was . . . I do not think Ethuniel had been born yet. Beregond's men used to patrol around the other side of Mount Doom occasionally, but it was such a long journey . . ."

"We discontinued those patrols nigh fifteen year ago," said Beregond, whose relationship with his lord's family had long entitled him to inclusion in close councils. "We never found anything, and those lands would ill support life for any length of time."

"They would have to have swept far to the east indeed, to have avoided being spotted at all by our forces." Elboron spread his hands on the table. "I cannot see how they would have done it. The amount of time they would have to have been in the far wastes of Mordor . . ."

Elfwine shrugged as if to say, now you see the problem.

"Perhaps they did not go through Mordor," Ethuniel said, clearing her throat as she spoke for the first time since they had sat down. They all looked at her; Legolas rather sharply.

The silence that greeted her words was intimidating, but she continued, "Well – could they not have sailed west up the coast and come ashore north of Gondor? The corsairs have been doing it since time immemorial."

Elfwine looked at Legolas then before replying, "Legolas has been trying to convince us that the Haradrim indeed launched from below the Harnen, where they could not be seen from Belfalas, did not come ashore until they would have near reached the lands of the _Holbytlan_, and then marched across land, through the forests – somehow evading the notice of Mirkwood – all to descend on Rohan from the Wold."

_Which explains why Legolas has come_. Thinking out loud, Ethuniel asked, "How many did you estimate there were?"

Elfwine looked to Eoric, who replied, "Perhaps a thousand."

They all gasped, and Ethuniel continued, "That would take at least ten ships of Harad's building – where would they have been left?"

"Ethuniel, you cannot really believe the Haradrim would go so far out of their way just to sweep back around to the northeast," her brother said.

"Do you believe they journeyed three months in the eastern reaches of Mordor?" she countered. "If a thousand men survived that, the Haradrim have indeed become more fearsome than ever."

"Perhaps they left Harad with three thousand," Elboron suggested with a hint of teasing in his tone.

"That is the other question," Legolas said, drawing all attention to himself with his quietly intense words. "However they came, and however they managed to evade notice until now, it seems a great deal of effort just to bring a thousand men to Rohan's northern border. A thousand will give Eomer a great deal of trouble, but I think in the end they would be pressed back."

"Unless," Eowyn finished for him, dread plain in her voice, "there are more waiting to come from the eastern plains . . . or from west of Isengard."

Legolas held Eowyn's eyes as he nodded. "I think that is the logical conclusion."

A cold chill ran down Ethuniel's back as her father began to speak. "They have been left alone for nearly twenty years – long enough to learn to live in peace without Mordor inciting them, but – long enough to build a greater army as well. We did not decimate Harad itself, only those forces it sent to battle Gondor."

"And Harad has never committed its full strength to another's battle," Legolas said. "Summoned by Mordor with the promise of conquest, they sent many men and beasts, but they would not have left themselves open to attack at home. They kept an army in reserve."

"And they've had time for a new one to grow up." Faramir was now sounding faintly ill. "In the years before the War we had little to do with Harad. We had enough trouble with Orcs on our very doorstep, and my father – preferred to concentrate on the threat from Mordor. We have no idea what size army they may be able to command."

"Their plan can only be to use Rohan as a testing ground," Elfwine said. "If they triumph there, then –"

"Gondor," Eowyn finished. Elfwine nodded grimly at his aunt.

_To be continued in Chapter 2._

_My heart sings to see thee._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N Chapter 1 has some formatting difficulties – no more asterisks for me. Apologies for the trouble until I correct it._

**Chapter 2: Emyn Arnen**

"Why did you bypass Minas Tirith and come straight here?" Faramir asked his young nephew. The Steward's hands were scrubbing worriedly at his face. "I would have heard if you had stopped and given this news to the King."

"Yes, you would have," Elfwine agreed. "My instructions were to go to the King with you, having all the information possible."

"You were supposed to find out whether Haradrim had been slipping into Ithilien from the desert?" Eowyn guessed.

"We did not want to go to the King with 'Haradrim are on our borders!' only to have him say the same thing," Elfwine admitted. "But mainly I was sent to ask my uncle to attend me to Minas Tirith, so that we could consult with the King together. My father would not leave Edoras at this time."

"Nor should he," said Faramir. "We will go to the White City tomorrow. But there is something you are leaving out, Elfwine. I do not think your father sent you all the way from Edoras with only six Riders and Legolas, hoping you would happen to pick up two Gondorian escorts along the way."

"No, he did not." Elfwine glanced at Eoric, and the other man continued the explanation.

"My lord, we came with my uncle's _eored_. Eomer King sent them in case there was trouble here with Harad, not wanting to send an emissary with any smaller escort. We left them but two hours ago, encamped between here and Osgiliath. Your patrol would have come upon them this afternoon if we had not come here first."

Eowyn and Faramir exchanged heavy looks – they knew, if perhaps their children did not fully grasp, that for Eomer to have sent an entire _eored_ out of the borders of Rohan meant he was taking a very serious view of things. "Who is your uncle?" Eowyn asked of Eoric.

"Geirdur, my lady. Of the Westfold."

"I remember him," she said. "He fought at the Pelennor, did he not? A very young man then, with a wife and small son at home." Eoric nodded his agreement.

When the council has been concluded for the time being and their guests had been taken off to rest, Elboron and Ethuniel took the opportunity for one of their accustomed talks away from their parents.

"Mother looked almost ill," Ethuniel said fretfully as they wandered down through the streets of Emyn Arnen.

"Well, she worries for Uncle Eomer – it is to be expected."

"Father did not look much better."

"Do not worry about it, I'm certain it will turn out to be nothing."

"Elboron!" At her scolding tone he stopped to look at his sister. "Have you suddenly decided that I am a simpleton?" she demanded. "I was sitting beside you in that room, you will recall. Kindly do not think that I cannot handle the reality of the situation. Elfwine is right – if Harad intends to attack Rohan, it will be a full assault, and they will have their eyes on Gondor next. And we live on Gondor's nearest border to Harad. King Elessar will send men to Rohan, but if they are unsuccessful the fight will likely come here. And furthermore, the King is like to send _you_ to Rohan to fight, since your training is long completed and you know the country. Do you think you could have kept that from me for long?"

Elboron sighed. "I had thought of the same eventuality," he admitted.

"Were you planning to write me long letters about the beauty of Lorien, pretend you were on a pleasure trip?"

"Ethuniel." His scold was gentler than hers, but mostly out of weariness. "Of course I would not attempt to keep anything from you. If – if I am asked to go away I will go willingly, to help my uncle and to defend Gondor. But we need not think of that yet – I only meant –" He sighed again. "Our guests came early this morning; there are several hours of daylight left. Shall we not ride out?"

"You will not make me forget this," she warned.

"I did not think I could. Think of it this way – we may not have many days of peace left in which to ride together."

Ethuniel's face softened, and she agreed to walk with him toward the stables.

In the stalls they walked past the stabled horses of their Rohirric guests – Legolas appeared to have borrowed a mount from them – to their own horses, which had been bred from their uncle's stock. Ethuniel's mare Brecca gave her a slightly irritated nudge to express, Ethuniel guessed, her displeasure that they had not ridden together in some days. "You were exercised, you know," she grumbled as the mare shook her ears. "But I know, it's not the same thing."

Elboron's Godric made a fuss as they led their horses from the stables, bucking a bit once and snorting repeatedly. He seemed to calm down once Elboron had mounted, and Ethuniel forgot the horse's strange behavior as she and her brother left the gates of the city – waving to the guards as they went – and galloped comfortably for the open plains to the north. They rode in easy companionship, putting some of the tension of the day behind them at last. Ethuniel challenged her brother to a race she knew he would win, which he did, pulling Godric around to wait for her at the top of the predetermined rise. It was then that Godric flattened his ears and snorted in a distinctly unfriendly manner.

"Godric!" Elboron reproved. "What's gotten into you? You can't be cross at Brecca now, we won after all."

Ethuniel felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "Elboron," she said quietly, "listen."

They were both silent as he looked around into the quiet, visibly concentrating. "I don't hear anything."

"Ssh," she whispered back, drawing her horse nearer to his. "Don't you?"

A quiet roar, almost undetectable, but Brecca's ears were now laid flat as well. "Hoofbeats," Elboron said, his voice dropping to a whisper to match his sister's.

They stood together not moving as the roar appeared to grow slowly nearer. Then they heard the unfamiliar shouts.

"It is not the _eored_," Elboron whispered, horror beginning to dawn on his face.

"No," Ethuniel replied.

"Not many men," he added.

"But enough . . ." She trailed off. Enough for one man and his barely-armed sister.

"From the east." Elboron stared off into the distance, at the hills from which the mounted figures would surely soon emerge. She could almost see him calculating – how far had they come exactly? Near to Geirdur's encampment? Far enough to have put too much distance between themselves and Minas Tirith to the west? It would be a race in any event . . .

"It was foolish of me to think it was still safe – when it must have taken Legolas and Elfwine days to get here, even at their fastest . . ." Elboron looked helplessly at his sister.

"We might still make home if we hurry," she said. "Whoever it may be, they have no reason to expect us out here."

"No," he replied, deciding on the spot. "We've ridden a bit more than an hour, I'd guess. I'll ride for home and try to give warning of unidentified riders. You – ride for the _eored_. Shelter with them – they'll protect their King's niece."

"Elboron," she protested, her fear beginning to mount.

"Go!" he insisted. "Straight north, that way. When you reach the top of the next rise you should be able to see where they're encamped. Whoever these riders are, they might even miss you entirely."

"Come with me, then."

"Someone has to go back."

"Elboron . . ."

_"Go!"_ When she reluctantly turned Brecca to the north, he said as farewell, "Ride hard, sister."

That, she did not need to be told.

With only one look back to see her brother galloping off in the other direction, Ethuniel bent low to Brecca's back and urged her horse forward with all the speed she could command. The sound of Brecca's charging drowned out the other hoofbeats, but it seemed to Ethuniel that the shouts might be growing nearer. And then, after she had ridden for what seemed like an impossibly long time, there was a lot more shouting. Not all of it sounded like the kind they had heard earlier, on the ridge.

Her heart pounding, she mounted the next rise and looked down into the valley, horrified yet somehow not surprised at what she saw. In the distance, a hastily mounted band of Rohirric Riders were being set upon by a party of exotic-looking men with curved swords and foreign painted designs on their saddles. Haradrim.

There were not many of them, but enough to outnumber the _eored_. And now she was too far from Emyn Arnen to risk riding back there alone, not knowing how many more might be out there.

Her options seemed few. In a moment the Haradrim would spot her, if they had not already. She could not retreat safely back down the ridge when there might be more of them at her back. She did not want to ride any closer to the fight, but it seemed clear that battle or no, she would be safer with the _eored_ than on her own. With a silent prayer for Elboron's safety, she urged Brecca into motion and rode for the besieged encampment, drawing her light sword (worn more to appease her parents' concerns for her safety than because she had any intention of using it) as she rode.

Her saddlecloths would mark her as being of Ithilien, and she did not worry that any of the Rohirrim would see her as a threat. She counted herself also fortunate to be wearing one of her plainer dresses, and nothing ridiculous such as a circlet on her hair. If she were very, very lucky, perhaps the Haradrim would assume her to be a camp follower and nothing more, and leave her alone. With her light brown hair pulling free of its sloppy braids and her fair skin and light eyes, she could pass easily for a commoner of Rohan.

As she rode into what seemed to be the rear of the fight, her first concerns were answered when one of the _eored_ greeted her, in heavily accented Westron, with, "Lady, it is not your lucky day!"

"It would appear not!" she replied effortlessly in what she knew to be perfect Rohirric. The man did not have time to be surprised that a common slip of a girl from Ithilien knew his language; they both had other things to worry about.

Ethuniel was in fact not very lucky, because the Haradrim did not seem inclined to leave her alone. Of course, she had come charging down the hill on a Rohirric warhorse. One of the Southern men came at her immediately on foot, sword waving menacingly. She slipped off of Brecca and smacked the horse's flank hard, saying, "Go! Follow your companions, girl." Brecca needed no more encouragement to join a small cluster of the _eored_'s riderless horses who appeared ready to bolt. Ethuniel found herself on the ground with her back to a tall Rider and the man from Harad still coming. She lifted her sword with another silent prayer and held it ready.

"Are you any good with that?"

It was the Rider behind her, calling over his shoulder as the man he was fighting tried to land a blow on his heavy leather breastplate. Ethuniel kept a wary eye on the enemy who was now only a few strides away as she muttered, "Sort of."

When the blow came, she was ready for it. Her shoulders soon protested – she had not practiced in some time – but her training came back to her quickly and, while she did not manage to injure her opponent in any way, she at least held him off until one of the Riders kindly finished him from behind for her. "Not bad, lady – keep on your feet," the Rider called in the common tongue as he turned to meet a new foe.

Ethuniel soon found herself distracted as well, although she considered her goal in this fight was not so much to be aggressive and attack the enemy as to remain alive until the fight were over. The Haradrim were unwilling to ignore even a girl with an untried blade and she was hard pressed to defend herself from each attacker long enough for one of the Rohirrim to intercede. Any shame she might have felt at needing to be "rescued" paled in comparison to her danger. She was not a warrior, and despite her training had never harbored any desire to see battle.

Out of instinct more than memory of her lessons, she consciously kept that same Rider to her back. It seemed she was right – three opponents later, during a sort of lull, the man clapped her heavily on the shoulder and said, "You're doing fine, stay to my back and they can't surprise you."

Opponent five was her first real hit. She did not kill him, but she cut him badly twice – the first hit made him sloppy long enough for her to land the second. He dropped his sword, and a notably tall Rider finished him.

She was still working on opponent six (the mental count kept her from panicking, somehow) when a heavier sword from her left slashed down on his arm and quickly disarmed him. The Rider who had spent the battle at her back pulled her away from her fallen enemy, toward the cluster of tents that marked the edge of the fight. "Look," he said hastily, before she could object, "there are only a few left."

Indeed there were, and they were being ably handled by the rest of the _eored_. Another Rider, with heavily scarred hands and coppery hair showing under his helmet, joined them to the side and asked in Rohirric, "Any dead of ours?"

"I don't think so," replied the Rider who was still holding her arm. "I saw Aethelgar take a wound that will need care, but otherwise . . ." He looked down as if suddenly remembering her. "I'm sorry," he said in Westron. "I –"

"It's all right, I speak Rohirric," she replied in that language.

"Of course you do," he said, with a tone that evidenced a willingness to accept anything. "How did you come to be here?"

Ethuniel felt her face grow warm. "My brother and I were out riding – we heard the Haradrim approaching and he rode back to Emyn Arnen to get help. He told me to find the _eored_, as you were closer than home – even once I saw the battle, I thought I had to be safer in it than on my own." Now that the danger had passed, she felt like an errant child. She probably looked the part as well, not carrying a great deal of authority in her face or figure at the best of times.

"You handle a sword fairly well." The Rider's words were spoken without irony, and they helped to cool her shame a very little. He pulled his helmet off, as many of his fellows were doing, revealing a quantity of fair hair and a face that would probably have been nice when it was not covered in dirt, sweat, blood, and several days' growth of beard.

"Indeed she does." The red-haired Rider had removed his helmet as well and was smiling at her with friendly eyes. "Most lasses would have panicked to find themselves in such a quandary."

Ethuniel refrained from pointing out that her decision to ride to the _eored_, even when they were in the thick of battle, had been very near to a display of panic. "Did I –" she asked hesitatingly, "did I – hinder you too badly? I mean . . ." _Did anyone get hurt because I slowed them down?_

"No," the red-haired man replied simply, and she heard the truth of his answer. "Even if you had, you were right to come to us."

The fair Rider leaned on his sword and studied her face. "Shouldn't we figure out a way to get you home?" he asked. "Your brother went for help? Are you from Emyn Arnen itself?"

"Yes," she replied hesitantly.

"Oh – sorry," the man said, misunderstanding her reluctance. "My name is Bardur, son of Geirdur. This is my cousin Almgeir –" the red-haired man.

Geirdur. So this Rider's father was the leader of the _eored_. That was convenient, as she imagined she would have some things to explain to him. She gave them a hesitant smile and said, "I am Ethuniel, Faramir's daughter of Ithilien."

The stunned silence lasted several moments. Bardur was the first to recover. "Your – brother went for help? That would be your brother . . ."

"Elboron," she said simply.

"Right." The two men exchanged looks. "To be perfectly clear," Bardur said, "you are Ethuniel, Eowyn's daughter, sister-daughter to Eomer King?"

Her face was growing hot again. "Yes."

"I don't know whether to be horrified or pleased," Bardur said, staring at her. "What could have happened . . . I tried to look out for you, but if I had known _whose_ uncle and cousin would be lining up to murder me if anything had happened to you . . . I mean – I thought you were just a girl unlucky enough to have . . ."

Ethuniel imagined that her face had to rival her mother's ripe apples in color. "That is, essentially, what I am," she pointed out.

Bardur opened his mouth, but seemed to have some trouble deciding what to say. Finally he settled on, "I think you'd better come and see my father."

_To be continued in Chapter 3!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Ithilien**

As it turned out, Ethuniel had to explain very little. Bardur and Almgeir led her across the camp to an older man with an air of authority and a considerable amount of blond beard who, before his son could say anything, widened his eyes and said, "My lady Ethuniel. This is a very unexpected meeting."

He spoke in his own language, which Ethuniel took to be a compliment, so she replied in turn. "I am sorry to have been thrust upon your protection, and to have surprised you all like this."

"Surprised?" The older man looked to his son. "Bardur, did you not recognize the King's niece? We had the honor of seeing her in Meduseld just – last winter, was it not?"

"Yes, sir," Ethuniel replied.

"I believe I was out in the Eastemnet at the time, sir," Bardur replied, with a small bow in Ethuniel's direction that could have been mistaken for a nod. "I did not have the honor."

"Well, my lady," Geirdur asked, "how did you come to be in the middle of this?"

Ethuniel told him the same story she had related to his son and nephew, and when she was finished he arrived at the same conclusion. "Right you were to come to us. Who knows how many of those demons may be wandering these hills now we've seen one band of them."

"Sir," Bardur interjected, "Lady Ethuniel's presence only makes more urgent a task that would have to have been undertaken anyway."

"Yes," Geirdur agreed. "Some of us must ride to Emyn Arnen in any case and tell the Prince what has occurred. Our Prince, that is," he addressed to Ethuniel, "though of course yours as well; though we do not report to him, these are his lands. And we can escort the lady home at the same time. Bardur," he instructed his son, "I think you and I, and Almgeir, with Alfarin, Bryn, and Elfgar, will be sufficient to ride for the city. The others can guard the encampment."

"If you wouldn't mind," Bardur suggested, "Aethelgar has received a serious wound – it will heal, but it will need some attending and surely his brother would like to remain with him for the time."

"Of course," his father said without hesitation. "Let Elfgar remain with his brother, and we will take Cuthred with us instead. Came you on your own mount, Lady?"

"She is over there with your own horses," Ethuniel replied, pointing to Brecca. She had managed to keep an eye on her mare throughout most of the fight, and Brecca, though disturbed, had not bolted.

"Good." Geirdur turned to Bardur and Almgeir. "Round up the others, and mount up!"

As they rode at a fair speed for Emyn Arnen, the leader of the _eored _positioned himself nearest to Ethuniel – out of politeness, to protect her, or simply because he wished it, she could not say.

"Do you not have more brothers than the one, my lady?" he asked after a while.

"Yes, I have two younger in addition to Elboron," she replied. "They are still in lessons yet, though soon they will be free of their masters."

"I believe I met Master Aldhelm in Rohan once."

"Yes," she said, considering. "That was some few years ago." In fact both of her younger brothers had been scheduled to be sent to Rohan for that visit, she recalled, but Theomir, the elder, had come down with fever and Aldhelm had been sent without him.

"A fine boy," Geirdur said. "He will make a good man."

"They both will," she said.

"A very fine horseman as I recall, though still a boy. Think you he might one day choose his mother's land to settle in?"

Ethuniel shrugged one shoulder as well as she could while still holding fast to Brecca's reins. "I do think the life of a Rider would suit him, but beyond that I cannot say. Though he is young, Aldhelm keeps his own counsel."

"Well, he must know the sister-son of Eomer King would be welcome in any man's eored – including mine."

"I am certain he does, but I will pass on your kind words."

They rode in this way for nearly a half-hour before two figures appeared on the horizon, galloping hard. Everyone tensed, but once the figures had come a bit nearer Ethuniel relaxed and said, "It is my brother and my cousin."

Elboron and Elfwine were very happy to see her safe, and Elboron joked, "Ethuniel, I did not say you had to bring the _eored_ back with you." Then he stopped, and seemed to notice the state of the men, his sister's dirty face and tumbled hair, and the way none of the men seemed to be looking Elfwine in the eye. "What happened?"

"The Haradrim found the _eored_ before I did, Elboron," Ethuniel replied to spare Geirdur the explanation. "They were beset when I arrived."

"And so you wisely stayed out of trouble?" her brother asked in a tone that managed to combine sarcasm and dread.

"She did the best thing she could have," Geirdur interjected. "She deemed right that she would be safer in company than on her own."

"Held her own, too," Almgeir said from his position on Ethuniel's right.

"Barely," Ethuniel muttered back, but she was grateful for the show of confidence nonetheless.

Both Elboron and Elfwine focused their eyes back on Ethuniel. "You fought?" Elboron asked in near-disbelief.

"A little," she said quietly, anxious to have the subject over with.

"We thought it best to escort your sister home and speak with Prince Faramir – and you, my lord Elfwine – about the attack," Geirdur said smoothly. "The rest of the men have remained at our encampment to the north."

With a nod to each other the two younger men turned their horses back toward Emyn Arnen, both waiting for Ethuniel to catch up and ride between them. When they were out of earshot of the Riders, Elboron repeated, "You fought?"

"I think the most strictly accurate description would be, I used my sword," Ethuniel said wryly. "I did little damage, but at least I avoided causing damage to myself or any of the _eored_, which was my aim."

"Mother will be pleased you took her advice and carried your sword."

"Mother will be unbearable for three days at least."

"Yes, that is probably true." He grinned, then abruptly turned serious again. "I did not run into a single rider on the way back to Emyn Arnen. I am very sorry."

"Sorry for not finding any trouble? I would prefer you did not," Ethuniel replied.

"Sorry for sending you into danger. I assumed the _eored_ would be safe . . ."

"And it was," she said. "I am unharmed, and the men looked out for me as best they could. You could not have known."

"That does not make me the less culpable."

"Of course it does; you did what you thought best. As did I." Elboron opened his mouth as if to protest again, but Ethuniel silenced him with a look. Her father was likely to be beside himself at her danger after all; she did not need her brother trying to claim responsibility for it on top of everything.

They were not met at the gates, but Faramir and Eowyn, with Legolas close behind them, were coming into the entrance hall as the entire party walked into the house. Eowyn did not wait until her children had reached her to begin talking.

"The next time you go looking for your sister out alone on the countryside with strange riders everywhere, you might consider taking the guards with you instead of merely leaving a message with Theomir that you and Elfwine have gone out to find her!" she stormed as they approached.

Elboron winced, but Elfwine spoke first. "We are sorry, Aunt. We did not know for certain whether Ethuniel had run into any trouble – we thought she would be waiting with the _eored_. And we did not wish to waste any time."

Eowyn looked as though she might be going to say something else, but Elboron had a moment of adolescent pique – he pointed to his sister and said, "She fought Haradrim."

Had Ethuniel not expected a thorough scolding followed by a great deal of crowing about her skill, it would have been comical the way her parents and Legolas all stared at Elboron, then moved as one to stare at her, all without speaking a word. Eowyn finally managed to stammer, "You – fought – Haradrim?"

Geirdur took that opportunity to bow deeply to his King's sister and explain about the attack, and Ethuniel's part in it (her deeds seemed to acquire more valor with each telling, by now she was receiving credit for having "disabled" at least one enemy). To Ethuniel's great relief, the opinion that she had done the safest thing was unanimous and after she had been tightly embraced by both parents she was able to blend into the background as her parents led Geirdur and the other men back into her father's council chamber.

"Disabled," she grumbled quietly to Bardur, who had fallen into step beside her. "Disabled his breastplate, more like. He would have lived, if that great tall one hadn't stabbed him from behind."

"Godwulf?" Bardur said, smiling broadly at her for the first time. "He is rather a giant, even for my father's _eored_, which is known for having the biggest men in the Mark."

"I could have guessed that." Bardur was no means the largest man she had seen in the _eored_, and even he stood more than head and shoulders above her.

The Rider's smile faltered slightly as he looked down at her, and he glanced around to see if any were in earshot before speaking. They had fallen behind the rest of the party, and so he said, "You have never been in a real fight before."

"No," she admitted. Surely he had been able to see that for himself?

"Have you ever seen a man killed?"

That gave her a moment's pause. "No. Not – before me like that." She wondered why he would be asking and her defenses were rising as she asked, "Why?"

He broke step and stopped to look down into her face. "Because you haven't stopped shaking yet," he said quietly. In some alarm she looked down at her own hands, which were indeed trembling. She hadn't noticed. Her face heated up, but he added quickly, in the same confidential tone, "Happens to everyone. I think your family was too busy being shocked to notice." He must have found some acknowledgement in her face, because he nodded slightly and started walking again. She followed without thinking, taking two hasty steps to each one of his.

By the time she and Bardur had entered the now-full council chamber, taking the last two remaining chairs around the large center table, Ethuniel had begun to notice other things. Her stomach had been fluttering unpleasantly probably for the last hour, but she had been too full of battle-energy to be aware of it. The smell of battle on herself, her clothes, her hair, and on the Rider sitting next to her was suddenly overwhelming. And try as she might, she couldn't control her hands.

Elboron was quick to confess that Ethuniel had heard the Haradrim approaching before he did, but they agreed (after she had taken several deep breaths and managed to find her voice) that the riders had most likely come from the east. "After all," Elboron said, "they certainly did not come from Minas Tirith."

"They did not come at us from the north, but that doesn't mean they couldn't have come from Osgiliath in the first place," Geirdur cautioned. Now he was taking the trouble to speak in Faramir's tongue, and his Westfold accent was hard and prominent.

Ethuniel and Bardur both began to speak at the same time, but he stopped and nodded for her to continue. "There is a portion of the river," she began haltingly, feeling with relief her stomach begin to return to normal as she spoke, "that cannot be seen from Minas Tirith or from our hills."

"In the bit of forest," Bardur added, looking to her for acknowledgement. She nodded to him.

"But then we have the same problem again," Elfwine said. "The Haradrim sailed up the river, landed across from Minas Tirith, then rode _around_ the _eored_ to attack from the east? Just to confuse us?"

"They cannot have expected an encampment of Riders in Ithilien," Almgeir protested.

"I think they did," Ethuniel said softly. All heads turned to face her in curiosity. "When I arrived, I noted that there were about fifteen more Haradrim than Rohirrim."

"I think that is right," Geirdur said cautiously, waiting to see what else she would say.

"It is odd, isn't it?" she continued. "Too many for a scouting party. Too few for a real attack. But just enough men to outnumber the average _eored_."

"They underestimated our skill," one of the Riders said boldly in his own language.

"Yes, yes," Faramir said, now staring intently at some invisible spot on the table. "But the point is, they sent – let us say ten men more than your numbers, assuming Elfwine and his party would have been at the camp during the attack. Ethuniel is right – it is a strange number of riders to send on a scouting mission, unless they _expected_ to run into an entire _eored_."

"They would have to have tracked us from far north," Bardur said.

"Or they had information that an _eored_ had been sent out of the borders," Elfwine said thoughtfully.

"From someone who saw them leave Rohan?" Eowyn frowned. "Even if they were observed from the mountains, how would the Haradrim know exactly where to find them?"

"By knowing exactly where they had been sent," Elfwine said. This pronouncement threw a chill over the room, and no one spoke for some time.

"On top of everything else," Eowyn said in quiet horror. "On the other hand - it seemed impossible that Haradrim could have entered Rohan from the north at all unnoticed, but – Haradrim _spies_, in Edoras itself? Surely that must be impossible."

"There are perhaps two merchant families of Harad living near Edoras," Elfwine said. "Both families settled there long before the war, and none of them have ever showed any discontent. I cannot think of any others near the city, and precious few anywhere else in the land."

Geirdur nodded his agreement. "It isn't like Gondor – you know, my lady" (this to Eowyn). "Outsiders have never found Rohan particularly hospitable – not the people you understand, but it's a hard land and those born to it love it best. Foreigners from the South would catch a lot of attention."

"By freezing to death," another of the Riders said quietly in Rohirric.

Faramir sighed. "Elfwine, I think it best if we ride early tomorrow for Minas Tirith. Eoric should accompany us, I think, and Elboron as well." He looked to his wife. "From there I think we should dispatch a message to your brother."

"A hasty one," she agreed. "He will want to know what happened today, but also Elfwine's suspicions. With which I concur," she added quickly, nodding to her nephew.

Faramir turned then to Geirdur. "I leave it to you whether you will remain in the city for the night, or return to your encampment. You and your men are of course welcome here for as long as necessary, but I understand if you wish to see to the rest of the _eored_."

Geirdur thought for a moment before deciding that, as it was already dark, they should remain in Emyn Arnen and then return to the encampment at first light. Bardur assured his father that the wounded man would heal and would be well cared for by those left behind, and so it remained only to find accommodations for the six additional men between the great house and the guard station.

As they all trailed from the council chamber, Bardur caught Ethuniel's eye and offered her half a smile. She hesitated, then nodded subtly. His warning was well taken.

By the time she retreated to her bedroom alone and stretched out on her bed, the smell and the noise and the reverberation of swords clashing that echoed through her bones had built into a quiet roar. Still, she did not cry until Elboron had come requesting entrance and, seeing the look on her face, sat down on the bed and wrapped his arms around his sister. Then the silent tears overflowed, and she could be grateful that at least no one else had witnessed them.

_To be continued . . ._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Emyn Arnen**

Ethuniel spent an uncomfortable night, but she was awake early the next morning to see her father, brother, and cousin depart for Minas Tirith with Legolas and Eoric. Faramir assured his wife that they would be home by the next day, but Ethuniel nevertheless saw the concern her mother was not entirely successful in hiding. After all, where there was one band of Haradrim raiders intent on a fight, there would surely be more.

Ethuniel was also present with her mother to see Geirdur and his men return to the rest of the _eored_ in the field later that morning. Bardur, like the other men, bade her farewell with only a slight bow which she met with a nod of her own. She thought he might have studied her for a moment while his father was cordially thanking Eowyn for her hospitality, but the intensity in his look was gone as quickly as she had noticed it, leaving her to wonder whether she had been imagining things. At any rate he would find little to observe; her dreams had been unpleasant and her sleep restless, but in the light of day she had already begun to feel that she would be able to meet another such situation with equanimity if she had the need.

"A good man, Geirdur," Eowyn commented to her daughter as they watched the Rohirrim ride from their gates. "I have not met him many times, but he has always been very kind." She draped a long arm over her daughter's shoulders and turned them both back toward the house.

"He remembered seeing me last winter in Meduseld," Ethuniel said.

"You must have been a bit of a shock for him yesterday afternoon," her mother replied with a smile.

"Rather worse of one for his son, I think. I was at his back through most of the fighting, and I think he feared the responsibility would have been his had I come to harm."

"Your uncle might certainly have acted first and asked questions later," Eowyn laughed. "But if he did not, he would not be your uncle, would he?"

On their doorstep Eowyn turned and looked off over the horizon toward Minas Tirith, which was just far enough to be invisible on all but the clearest days. Her eyes narrowed into the fog that lay over the fields, and she was silent long enough that her daughter laid a hand on her shoulder and drew her inside.

"They will be safe, Mother," Ethuniel said gently.

"I know." Eowyn paused in the doorway and cast another long glance over the landscape to the west. "I only feel as though – as though a shadow that has been steadily lifting for years now hovers on the brink again, waiting . . ."

"The Haradrim are only Men," Ethuniel said almost in a whisper. "Whatever happens, it cannot be so dark as the times you remember. There is no Lord of evil anymore."

"No," Eowyn said quietly, but her eyes did not waver although her body was turned into the house.

"There is no power in the East," Ethuniel said again, ignoring the cold chill that ran down her spine as she spoke the words. "None but a mortal one, and Men can be overcome."

When her mother's eyes finally met Ethuniel's, they were veiled and absent. "Yes, they can be," Eowyn said. "And we are Men as well."

* * *

True to their word, the men returned from Minas Tirith late the next afternoon. They all looked weary as they filed into the house, and Faramir almost immediately raised a hand to forestall his wife's questions. "Into the study, I think," he said, kissing Eowyn's forehead and drawing her arm into his. "We shall tell you all." 

"I think I must ask you to extend your hospitality for a short while, Aunt Eowyn," Elfwine said. "King Elessar has asked that the _eored_ remain where it is until we have a reply from my father."

"Elessar thinks it best to ask our friends to remain on alert, as so many of our own men are being divided between Osgiliath and Emyn Arnen on patrol," Faramir explained. "We of course wait on my brother's word as to whether they will return home to defend Rohan, or remain here as part of a united strategy."

"Strategy?" Eowyn echoed. They had all begun to follow Faramir down the darkening hall to the door of his study. Legolas, who had not yet said a word except in greeting, fell back to bring up the rear with Ethuniel.

Once everyone had found a chair within the small but comfortable room on the western side of the house, Ethuniel's father continued with his news. "We await word from Eomer, but we hope that the King and a measure of his counsellors will depart for Edoras within the week. I will certainly be among them, along with my uncle and Elboron." His eyes met his wife's from across the room. "I leave it to you whether you will wish to accompany us, although I feel certain you will."

"Of course," Eowyn said without hesitation. "I would wish to be with you and my brother."

"I think Ethuniel may make the journey if she chooses," Faramir continued. "She has been in our counsel, and indeed she is quicker than many of the men I could bring with us." Ethuniel, who was rather startled, saw that he seemed to be awaiting a response and she nodded out of reflex. "Good. For Aelwen and the boys, however –" his eyes darted back to his wife's face "– I do not think I should like to risk it. I think Aelwen for one ought to be left safely in the Queen's hands in Minas Tirith, and she would be easier if her brothers were with her."

"I agree entirely," Eowyn said. "At any rate then Theomir may not feel so tempted to think he ought to fight, as he certainly would if we brought him into the thick of things in Rohan."

Ethuniel privately agreed, although she wondered whether even leaving him behind would keep her brother altogether out of trouble. At sixteen, Theomir had not so much a lust for battle as a great pull toward his duty, and an equally great difficulty accepting that he must remain safely at home while his brother and his friends who were of age rode out on patrol. Ethuniel could well imagine that he would be near unmanageable if real war were to break out and he were left behind. Trusting him to the calm guidance of Queen Arwen was likely to be the best decision possible, but Theomir's resentment was predictable nonetheless.

On the sixth day after their council, a courier arrived riding hot from Minas Tirith with a message for Faramir. It was a letter from the King, and folded within it was a characteristically pithy message from Eomer of Rohan. Faramir passed it immediately to his wife over the breakfast table and left to her the task of transliterating her brother's hasty scrawl.

"Not all of this is runic, you know," Eowyn said with a faint smile for her husband as she held the message close to her eyes. "His message to Aragorn – which you must admit he has written in something very like your Southern script – is that he appreciates the consultation, and his orders for the time being will be to have Geirdur's _eored_ escort the King's party to Rohan. The bit at the bottom I assume is intended for us: 'I look forward of course to welcoming my brother and my nephew, along with any other members of my sister's household as she may choose.' That's brotherly devotion, isn't it?"

"Are we all to go to Rohan, Mother?" Theomir asked. Conversation paused as his parents and elder siblings suddenly became very intent on their breakfasts. Ethuniel took a moment to be grateful that only their cousin Elfwine, and not Legolas, was with them at breakfast to see what might happen.

Before the silence could grow too obvious, Faramir said calmly, "Your mother and I journey to consult with your uncle. We will ask you and Aldhelm to watch over your sister in Minas Tirith until we return."

"Am I to stay with Queen Arwen?" Aelwen asked. She sounded delighted at the prospect, but Theomir spoke before anyone could answer her.

"So Elboron travels with you to Edoras?" His challenging gaze fell quickly on his elder sister at the other end of the table. "And you, Ethuniel, do you stay safe in Minas Tirith, or are you to ride to Rohan as well?"

Seeing that no help was to come her way from her parents or Elboron, who were all watching as though frozen, Ethuniel said slowly, "I have been in our cousin's counsel here in Ithilien, and I go to assist in talking matters over with Uncle. That is all."

"But I can –"

"I go not to battle the enemy, Theo," she said, allowing a note of warning into her voice.

Her brother looked to his parents for assistance, his face beginning to flush in anger. "So I must be stored safely at home while Ethuniel travels with you although she's a g–"

"Theomir, I cannot imagine that you truly wish to finish that sentence," his mother said, holding his angry eyes steadily in her gaze. It took a moment, but eventually Theomir flinched.

"Anyway," Elboron interjected now that it was hardly necessary, "you would not have us all ride off and leave Aelwen alone in the city, would you?"

The combination of stony anger and hot embarrassment had not faded from their brother's face, but he glanced hastily at his little sister and forced himself to shake his head in the negative.

"Good boy," Eowyn said, finally releasing her son from her stare. "You know full well that when you are of age you will be brought into your father's counsel – indeed you may do any foolish thing you like – but for now your task is to mind what you're told and watch over your sister."

"Do you expect to be gone long?"

Although he was sitting next to her, Ethuniel had nearly forgotten that her youngest brother was at the table. Eowyn's face softened considerably as she turned to her third son, and Faramir was visibly relieved to have the attention diverted from Theomir as well.

"We plan to go only to form a strategy, and then we should return," Faramir answered. "But none of us can say how long that may take."

"Will there be war in Gondor?" Aldhelm asked bluntly.

Everyone's eyes, including Theomir's, darted in Aelwen's direction and just as quickly looked away again. The little girl watched her father intently, awaiting his reply.

"If there is further fighting in Rohan, Gondor will go to her aid," Faramir said carefully. "More than that I do not know."

Theomir excused himself from breakfast quickly, leaving the rest of them to fill the meal with nervous chatter designed to distract their young sister from thoughts of war. Ethuniel finally found herself wandering from the hall with Aldhelm in tow, watching him tug thoughtfully on the ends of his hair.

"You know," he said after a silence that lasted until they had reached the front hall, "I am as eager to – to defend Ithilien, as Theomir. But –"

"I know you are," Ethuniel replied, turning to face him and laying a hand on his arm. "You are not so rash nor so quick to anger as he, and so you accept your duty as it is given to you. No one thinks you lacking in anything."

"Theomir does," Aldhelm said, calmly but earnestly. "He wishes I would fight more for him, for both of us."

"Maybe he wishes for your assistance in pressing his case," Ethuniel said, "but he cannot think you lack the will to fight. In fact I know he does not think so."

"Perhaps."

"There is no 'perhaps,'" Ethuniel said with a small laugh. "There is only, 'Why yes, Ethuniel, you're quite right. I never thought of that – how stupid of me.'"

Her brother laughed as she had wanted him to do, and she added, "I know you will be a formidable soldier in your turn, Aldhelm, but like Mother and Father I selfishly want to keep you safe until you're of age – longer if possible, but knowing you I do not imagine it _will_ be possible. No one wants to see their little brother ride out to danger, no matter how skilled – no matter even that he might be twice the size of his 'big' sister." She smiled at him and said, "But you know, Geirdur asked me to tell you that you would be welcome in his _eored_ if you ever decided to make your home in the Mark."

"Did he say that?"

The look in her brother's eyes was definitely interest. "Yes, he did. Should you like it, do you think?"

"I might." Aldhelm's look had gone distant, and he turned as if to head up the hall again. "Excuse me, Ethuniel – if you are all going to Rohan soon, I wish to write a letter to my cousins to send with you."

Ethuniel was still smiling as she watched him leave, pondering _which_ of their Rohirric cousins he was in such a hurry to write to – he seemed to receive a great many letters from their pretty cousin Theodhild, who was exactly his age – when she saw her other younger brother sitting by himself out in the garden. She made as little noise as possible on her way out to meet him, but he lifted his head anyway at her approach and twisted around to see who was coming.

"Ethuniel." He ducked his head in embarrassment as she came closer, and she saw that the angry color had faded from his face. "I'm – I didn't mean what I said, you know. Or rather – what I didn't say. I don't think you're any less – well, you know."

She sat beside him on the bench, primly tucking her skirts around her ankles. "Even if I can't beat you anymore, I took down a few Haradrim last week that could tell you how a girl can fight."

"Did you really?"

"No." She faced him with a deadpan look until against his will, Theomir began to laugh. "Truly, I was pleased enough to keep hold of my sword," she said, laughing with him. "I now owe my life to . . . at last count, four Riders of Rohan. Perhaps Aldhelm will join the _eored_ after all and pay my debt."

"The _eored_?" She didn't answer, watching him think. "That would be interesting for him, wouldn't it?"

"Yes." She laid a gentle hand on her brother's shoulder. "He thinks you're disappointed in him, Theo."

"For what?"

"For not arguing with Father, I suppose."

"That's ridiculous!" He met her eyes and amended, "All right, it isn't. I do wish he would fight a little sometimes – but that isn't to say I don't know he can fight when it matters. He just isn't . . . well . . ."

"As tightly strung as you are?" Before he could give full rein to his outrage she laughed and jumped off the bench out of his reach. "Peace, baby brother – you would not have a war right here in our garden, would you?"

Suddenly serious, he asked, "But will we have one in our backyard?"

"I hope not," she replied softly. "In fact I hope you never have a chance to ride against the Haradrim."

"Are Father and Mother worried?"

Ethuniel hesitated only for a moment. "Yes, they are."

Theomir nodded. "Where's Aldhelm?"

"Gone to write to our cousins."

He rolled his eyes. "To Theodhild, you mean. At least none of the rest of us will ever have to worry about uniting Rohan and Gondor for the next generation."

"Don't you tease him."

"I won't," he promised, and she saw that he was serious. "Will you excuse me?" He was gone into the house almost before she replied.

* * *

They took an awkward direction from Emyn Arnen when the entire party finally rode out, heading first north to meet the _eored_ before riding west to Minas Tirith. The ride was not terribly long and so Aelwen was allowed to travel on her quiet gelding between Elboron and Ethuniel, instead of in one of the carriages as she would have done had they travelled much further. In a basket in one of the carriages, however, rode Aelwen's special charge – Ethuniel's cats, entrusted to her sister rather than to the servants in Emyn Arnen. It had been a simple matter to convince Aelwen that the two young housecats, which Ethuniel had raised from tiny kittens, would be lonely without any of the family at home, and Ethuniel was likewise reassured that her little sister would be more comfortable with the cats for company and the duty of their care to occupy her mind. Aelwen had sworn almost comically to give them special treats and ensure that they did not get loose in the city, and to keep them out of trouble in the Queen's house. 

The _eored_ stood ready to meet them in riding formation as they came over the rise from which Ethuniel had first seen the attack of the Haradrim, and the men saluted first their prince, then the Prince of Ithilien, then their own king's sister, until finally many of them raised a subtle hand in greeting to Ethuniel herself where she rode behind her father's left shoulder. The men of Rohan surrounded the smaller guard they had brought from Emyn Arnen, with both Almgeir and Bardur, difficult to recognize under their helmets, appearing at Ethuniel's left as the party turned for Minas Tirith. Ethuniel was not maudlin enough to look over her shoulder toward her home as they rode for the White City, but Aelwen did – staring behind as though she might not see Emyn Arnen again. It was only a moment, however, and then she was turning back to Ethuniel and chattering about how the young princesses would almost certainly like to help her look after the cats. Elboron smiled at Ethuniel over their sister's head, and then they both turned to watch the capital come into view.

_To be continued. Thanks so much for all the reviews!_


End file.
